I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the righteousness of Christ, the gift of being given His righteousness, and what Scripture means when it says our own righteousness is like filthy rags while His is complete. These reflections have been shaping how I understand grace, identity in Christ, and what it truly means to live as a new creation.
So what exactly is righteousness?
All my life, I was taught that righteousness meant being “right with God” and living the way God expects. It felt like a combination of right standing with right behavior—something I had to maintain through my own effort.
But over the past few years, I’ve been looking deeper. If all my own righteousness is filthy rags, then it clearly isn’t my behavior or performance that produces true righteousness. And while I’ve always believed that being in Christ puts me in right standing with God, I began wondering: Who is Christ in right standing with? If He is perfect, sinless, and God in the flesh, then righteousness for Him isn’t something He achieves—it’s who He is. Thus, it must be who I am as well.
Growing up in a religious system that mentioned grace ocassionaly, but didn’t live by it shaped a lot of my thinking. Grace was for salvation, but after the “amen” of the sinner’s prayer, the message quickly turned into performance, pressure, and spiritual fear. It became a constant effort to “stay right.” As we used to say, “Get right or get left.”
As I grow in my understanding of God’s grace, His unconditional love, and my identity in Christ, I still sometimes wrestle with old habits—especially the urge to constantly ask (really beg) for forgiveness. I spent years believing that if I died with any unconfessed sin, I’d go to hell. Even as a child, I was terrified that I wasn’t really saved because I might have done something that displeased God.
But I’m learning now that God loves me deeply, and that if I am in Christ, I am a new creation. Old things truly have passed away. All things have become new. (2 Corinthians 5:17)
That’s not just a verse to quote. It’s a truth to live from.
I am new. I am a new creation. The old me is gone. That doesn’t mean I never make mistakes—I do. But I’m not flipping back and forth between sinner and saint like a confused jumping bean. My identity is secure because Christ’s righteousness is mine. End of story.
Even so, today I found myself slipping into that old mindset—feeling like I had to confess my sins in order to “be forgiven.” Verses like 1 John 1:9 get quoted a lot in fear-based, performance-based Christianity, and they can stir up a lot of anxiety:
What if I forget something?
What if I didn’t realize something was wrong?
What if I think it’s a sin but it isn’t?
As I was talking with Jesus, I said, “I know I’m forgiven and that You’ve given me Your righteousness, but I just feel like I need to beg You to clean me up.”
And instantly, He gave me a gentle thought.
We can know our spouses, parents, kids, and close friends love us, but it still feels good—and sometimes necessary—to hear “I love you,” or get a hug or a kiss. Those moments don’t create love; they remind us of it.
In the same way, we can know we’re forgiven and righteous in Christ… but reassurance still comforts our hearts.
Today I had some wrong attitudes. I felt irritated. My reactions weren’t Christlike. And even though I understood I was forgiven, something in me still wanted to fall back into begging God to clean me up.
So I began to pray for forgiveness. But Abba showed me what I needed wasn’tto be forgiven again, but I just needed reassurance. I needed a fresh sense of His presence. Almost like a spiritual foot washing, the way Jesus washed Peter’s feet, not to clean him completely, but to refresh him. (John 13:1-17)
Coming from a background that lacked grace, it’s easy for me to slip back into fear and doubt. And today, even knowing the truth in my mind, my heart drifted back into that old pattern of begging for forgiveness.
In that moment, I sensed Abba whisper, “You know you’re forgiven, and you know I love you—but sometimes it’s just nice to get a hug from Dad.”
And that’s exactly what it was. My confession wasn’t about earning forgiveness; it was about receiving reassurance. It was about feeling His embrace and hearing His loving voice again.
Admitting my failures wasn’t about making God forgive me. It was opening myself to feel His affection—to let Him hug me and say, “I love you.”
Even when my attitude wasn’t right, He loved me. When I realized my heart was off, He loved me. When I came to Him, He met me—not with judgment or shame, but with tenderness, kindness, and reassurance.
He loves me. Fully. Freely. Constantly.
And He loves you the same way—with an everlasting love that doesn’t disappear when you struggle, doubt, or fail.
